<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Beak and Call by ForFucksSakeJim</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121323">Beak and Call</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForFucksSakeJim/pseuds/ForFucksSakeJim'>ForFucksSakeJim</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Butler AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Butler AU, M/M, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, rich kid mark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:41:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30121323</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForFucksSakeJim/pseuds/ForFucksSakeJim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In an AU where Falcon gets hired as the butler to the Beaks family he can’t help it as the eldest son gets under his skin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Beaks/Falcon Graves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Butler AU [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2285690</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. First Meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by a headcanon that coursed through the gravesbeaks discord server like the fucking corona virus.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mark had never been one to be at a loss for words. He was quick with a retort and quicker with a keyboard. But now? When the door to his home was opened by someone who was definitely not the stuffy old dude they’ve had since he was a child but instead a tall beefcake with permanent scowl lines etched into his face. Well, Mark was awestruck. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t news to him that he was gay, having an admiration for both sexes since he learned to jack off and the fantasies he concocted in his mind. He knew in that moment any future trysts with his hand would be aided by the mental image of this absolute unit of a man plowing him from every angle Mark could imagine. </p><p> </p><p>“Sir?” The man spoke, breaking Mark out of his trance, his hand coming up to thread through his hair and push it back. His signature smile fell into place as he looked the taller man up and down one last time. </p><p> </p><p>“You must be Falcon Graves.” Mark spoke, the memory of his mother’s off hand comment about the new butler coming to the forefront of his mind now that his gay panic was over. “I’m Mark.” He spoke, not bothering to wait for Falcon to move before walking past him, taking his jacket off as he went and throwing it haphazardly in the direction of the coat rack. </p><p> </p><p>He heard a deep sigh from the other man as he walked over, bending down to pick the discarded item from the floor. Mark smirked as he admired the older mans….<em> ass </em>ets. Taking in the firm tone of his butt and realizing just how thick the man’s thighs were; no doubt from working out. </p><p> </p><p>“Pleasure.” Falcon grumbled and Mark bit his beak. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Mark replied, bobbing his head while watching as Falcon straightened his spine and turned around to look at him, an eyebrow raised. Mark continued, “I’m sure it is. Where’s my mother?” He asked, his eyes glancing around the empty foyer. He wasn’t expecting any kind of welcome home hug from the woman but at least some kind of presence from the balcony overlooking the entranceway. </p><p> </p><p>“She is not home at present, sir.” Falcon spoke as he neatly placed the jacket on the spot left vacant for Mark. “She welcomes you home and wishes me to convey her apologies for not being present when you returned.” Mark laughed. A full out chuckle at the statement. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, sure.” Mark replied, grumbling under his breath as he fixed the non existent wrinkles in his pressed shirt. “Where’s she at this time? Prague? Paris? Milan?” He asked, rattling on he finally made eye contact with the butler. </p><p> </p><p>“Tokoyolk,” Falcon responded, “she stated there were manners concerning her latest product launch in the city and-“ he was cut off as Mark held up his hand. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I don’t really care how far away she is.” He spoke and Falcon had been employed long enough in the Beaks manor to know that family relationships weren’t a strong suit here. The barely tolerable occupants of the house and the way they seemed to not even acknowledge the others presence struck an odd chord in Falcon as he watched the Beaks children interact with their parents. </p><p> </p><p>Emma and Eric had four children. The eldest at 19, was Enola, currently studying abroad in Paris. From what Falcon gathered she was the pride and joy of Emma Glamour. Tall and beautiful and already making front covers of magazines for products she endorsed. </p><p> </p><p>Markus, aged 19, was the second child. The one who was an enigma to Falcon as he had barely even heard mention of the eldest Beaks boy. He knew he had been off at some rich kid retreat his mother had shipped him off too at the start of summer vacation. But other than that it was if the boy was just a mere ghost. </p><p> </p><p>The third child was Michael, a girl and twin sister of Markus. Showing off and excelling at anything she did. An Olympic hopeful in figure skating currently training at some prestigious skate school under the coaching of a former gold medalist. </p><p> </p><p>The youngest, at only 17 was Amelia, who was already beginning her pre med studies at Crawvard college. Occasionally making her appearance known on the rare video conference that Falcon had been privy to during his employment. </p><p> </p><p>Emma was hardly ever at home for more than three days at a time. Constantly flying around the world and back to attend to her ever expanding fashion empire while her husband stayed state wise as a manager for the professional baseball team he once played for. Falcon didn’t follow the sport much, but knew enough from the grumbling Eric Beaks did from the couch as he watched an opposing team's tape to know enough for a conversation. </p><p> </p><p>“Just care when she comes back.” Mark spoke, scowling as acid dripped in his tone. He looked at Falcon with a raised eyebrow as if expecting some answer from the butler. </p><p> </p><p>“She informed me she shall return in five days time.” He replied, watching as the man sighed in relief, an odd sort of response to expect but not one to be uncommon in the manor. From what Falcon had gathered from the other staff Mark’s relationship with his parents was strained at best. Whispers of Mark galavanting around the world while supposedly in school and having to come home with the threat of being disowned. But Falcon didn’t like to engage in gossip, especially regarding the lives of the rich. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s all I wanted to know.” Mark spoke, as if he had to work for the answer he so sought with a reckless abandon. He looked Falcon up and down once more before continuing, “I’m going to my room. Buzz me when supper is ready.” He waved his hand, as if he could cause Falcon to disappear in a puff of smoke. </p><p> </p><p>Mark didn’t wait for a response as he turned on his heel, taking a look at the staircase and groaned. “Yeah, fuck stairs today.” He grumbled before heading towards the elevator that had been installed. It was mainly used by housekeeping to move between floors with their service carts but it seemed Mark held no distaste for it. Unlike his parents who avoided it as if it held a plague. </p><p> </p><p>Falcon prided himself on being good at reading people, to pick up on the slightest of facial expressions. But Mark. Mark was a whole new territory and as he nodded his affirmation and made a mental note to talk to the cook he couldn’t help but feel a nudge in the back of his mind. A nudge that told him to keep a very close eye on Mark Beaks. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eric Beaks had arrived home only hours after Mark’s return. A man of few words who only nodded in response to Falcon opening the door for him. Falcon would realize later that the next ten minutes would be more words than he ever exchanged with the former world champion. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Markus home?” He asked looking at the coat rack as he removed his own jacket, handing it off to Falcon. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, sir. He arrived just a few hours ago.” He replied, taking the jacket to its designated hook. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good, good.” He replied, nodding his head as his eyes traveled up the staircase. “How did he seem?” He asked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pardon?” Falcon replied, not quite understanding the question posed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eric seemed to take no offense in his response, “How was his mood? Just wanna know if I’m walking into a storm or if I should wait it out at home plate.” He said, “He’s got a temper like his mother and I rather not be on the receiving end of it just yet.” He chuckled. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He seemed OK.” Falcon replied, “Perhaps a tad bit annoyed?” He continued, not sure exactly what mood the younger Beaks man had been portrayed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Gotcha.” Eric responded, “That’s a ‘steer clear because I’m mad at everyone.’ pitch he’s giving off.” Falcon nodded his head, filing it away in the back of his mind for future references. “I’ll be in my study,” Eric continued as he began walking down the far hallway that led to other miscellaneous rooms, “Let me know when Supper is ready.” Falcon gave a curt response, watching the man turn and walk through one of the doorways. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Falcon sighed, this job was going to kill him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As if on cue his work phone dinged and he quickly retrieved it from his pocket, unlocking it to see a message from Mark. </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Falcon sighed once more, having the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was going to be doing a lot of that during the course of his employment with the Beaks family. He reread the message, <em>'bring me a redbull.'</em>  was the man serious. Falcon was sure that he was and never the less responded with a quick "Of course, sir"</p>
<p>He knew enough from watching American television the redbull was a drink. If he hadn't seen a commercial for the drink just a few days ago he felt like he would have to embarrassingly google just what exactly it was if not an actual animal. </p>
<p>Falcon made his way to the kitchen, nodding to the cook who was busy bustling around the stove. She gave him a quizzical look, raising her eyebrow in question, "What ya need, darling?" She spoke in southern accent. </p>
<p>"Markus requested a redbull." Falcon spoke and she was rolling her eyes and shaking her head as she turned back to the simmering pot. </p>
<p>"That poor boy is gonna die if he keeps drinking those heart attack in a can." She spoke, clicking her tongue as she moved to the cabinet and withdrawing a few spices from their placement. "I knew he was coming home so I picked him up a couple of cases. I already stashed some in the refreshment fridge." She continued, nodding her head in the direction of one of the many refrigerators that made up the spacious kitchen</p>
<p>"Don't open it for him." She spoke as Falcon made his way over there, opening the fridge to indeed find many cans of the energy drink as well as Emma Beaks favorite wines. Falcon retrieved one and turned to look at her, his own eyebrow now raised. "Don't take it personal, honey." She continued, walking to one of the other refrigerators and pulling out fresh vegetables. "Bless his heart, poor boy has a thing about them germs. I don't blame him one bit for that. Ya know, he was sick a lot as a kid. Not my place to tell or anythin' but just so ya know." She replied. He didn't know much about the cook. He knew her name was Mizzy Warbler and if she was alone in the kitchen she was always humming some tune under her beak. Falcon knew she'd been employed with the Beaks for almost 30 years, so she knew everything there was to know about the family he now currently worked for. </p>
<p>Falcon nodded his head, "Thanks for the information." he replied as she nodded in return, resuming looming over the stove. </p>
<p>"Tell them boys they got about 20 minutes to freshen up before supper's ready." She called out over her shoulder as Falcon nodded his head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He made his way first Eric's study, popping his head in briefly after knocking to alert him that supper would be served soon. Eric gave him a nod, not bothering to look up from his computer screen.</p>
<p>Falcon then made his way to the elevator, referencing the quick guide inside as to what floor Mark lived on. Like Eric and Emma who had a floor just to themselves, Mark had claimed the top level as his own personal domain, forbidding either parent from entering. Which Falcon understood, he wouldn't want his parents in his business either.</p>
<p>The elevator was fast and before Falcon knew it he had reached the top floor. He had never been up here before, having no reason to until Mark arrived home. </p>
<p>Mark voice filtered through a speaker on the other side of the elevator, "There you are dude! I've been waiting forever. Down the hall." He spoke, and Falcon sighed and walked down. Following the sounds of "pews" from a sound system that Mark was no doubt next to. </p>
<p>He found the room quite easy and his eyes about bugged out of his skull. There, on the floor with hardly any clothes on was Mark Beaks. His body contorted in ways that could not be comfortable. Mark looked up at him with half lidded eyes, his blue tongue coming out to swipe along the bottom of his beak. His body unraveled as he spoke, "Ya know, I was just thinking about you." He stood up, stretching his arms up, his crop top riding even further up the expanse of his torso, Falcon quick to avert his eyes as Mark continued. "And I was thinking. You need a nickname." he walked over, swiping his redbull off the platter Falcon had set it on, "Hey, you didn't open it. Props, man." He spoke, cracking it open and taking a long swig of the drink. </p>
<p>"As I was saying." he said, walking over to a stool and setting the drink on it, "Nickname. Falcon is just weird, and Graves is too formal." His hands were twitching and waving about wildly as he picked up his phone, "SO! I've come the genius conclusion that you will now be Gravesy!" </p>
<p>Falcon hated it instantly. </p>
<p>"Gravsey?" He replied, wanting to gag at the way it felt on his tongue. </p>
<p>"Yeah, Gravsey." Mark replied, shooting him a finger gun and a wink, "It's the perfect name for you. All tall, dark, and sexy." he replied, letting his eyes gaze over him once more as Falcon scowled. </p>
<p>"If that would be all sir, supper will be ready in a few minutes." Falcon spoke, ready to turn around and prepare for the evening meal.</p>
<p>"Is my father home?" Mark asked, stopping Mark in his tracks. </p>
<p>"Yes." </p>
<p>"Then bring it up to me." Mark demanded, "I'm not in the mood to deal with him today." Falcon could just nod his head, turning on his heel and walking away. </p>
<p>He told himself the low whistle coming from behind him was just ringing in his ear and definitely not Markus.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come bother me on tumblr @ forfuckssakejim</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>